He jerked his head toward her, feigning astonishment. “What do squirrels have to sigh about? You got world-weary squirrels here in Hellcat Canyon?”
She laughed. “I do have a blue jay who’s a bit of a dick.”
“Oh, blue jays don’t take any guff,” he said in all seriousness.
She laughed again. He loved the sound of her laugh.
He took the nearly U-shaped bend she silently pointed to and aimed the truck up the hill.
“I’m... riiiight... there. On the right. That yellow cottage with the red mailbox.”
He maneuvered the truck over and cut the engine and the party of deer arranged in front of her house like ornaments scrambled to their feet and trotted at a swift but hardly urgent pace up the path and out of her gate. They seemed less frightened of than guilty about being caught holding a lawn party.
Their hooves echoed on the hard earth as they all vanished.
“That’s one of my favorite sounds,” she said absently.
“What, deer hooves?” Somehow he just knew.
“Yep.”
“It’s a good one. Flapping’s good, too.”
“Flapping?”
“Wings, flags, sails, the ears of dogs and cats when they shake their heads.”
She turned to stare at him.
“All good sounds,” she said softly. As if it was the most perfect thing she’d ever heard.
He realized his hands were still gripping the wheel. Albeit loosely. He still hadn’t quite turned all the way to look at her head on.
He knew it was because the minute he met her eyes he would need to make a decision.
The atmosphere in the cab of the truck was a bit like the air just before a lightning storm.
His head turned, his hand left the wheel.
And it rose slowly, to slide along her cheek, and she tipped her head into it with a sigh. And then her eyes closed, and magically, as if they both knew this was the next step in the dance, they were leaning into each other, and his lips leisurely, softly, brushed across hers. It was the kind of caress, he knew from experience, that let all your other nerve endings know that mind-blowing pleasure was on its way.
It was very nearly a chaste kiss.
If, say, a burning match touched to a fuse could be considered chaste.
And the little carnal catch in her throat... well, he’d remember that sound forever.
He unleashed himself just a little. He let his mouth sink against the softness of hers.
He could all but taste desire in the back of his throat, electric and nearly desperate. It was as if every muscle in his body was pulled taut as a bowstring.
Her lips, her skin, her hair. So soft. Christ almighty.
His lungs moved shallowly. He could feel the answering tension in her. Her mouth parted softly against his; he pulled her lower lip gently, gently between his. Her breath was hot and shuddery and he wanted to slide his hand up under her skirt and between her thighs, watch as her eyes went hot and dazed and her head thrashed back as his fingers worked their magic.
And to get from here to there, all he had to do was take that kiss deeper.
In minutes have her in his lap, riding both of them to climax. This was hardly his first rodeo.